


The Scientific Method

by CallMeHux



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-16
Updated: 2016-09-16
Packaged: 2018-08-15 07:11:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8047147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallMeHux/pseuds/CallMeHux
Summary: Bellamy has a new neighbor and Miller has a new theory on how Bellamy gets into relationships.





	The Scientific Method

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bellamythology (onemanbellarmy)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/onemanbellarmy/gifts).



> Another new kind of story from me, which I hope meets expectations. The prompt was modernverse fluff and folks making fun of Bellamy and/or Clarke about their eventually getting together.

"Who's your new neighbor?" Miller asked as he flopped on the couch, conveniently next to the pizza.  "I saw her going out as I came up the stairs."

"Who, the Princess?" Bellamy scoffed as he pulled a bunch of paper towels from the roll in the kitchen and grabbed the ranch dressing from the fridge so Raven could dip her crusts, lest she complain that he didn't put it out for her.

As was typical, Raven made grabby hands at him until he handed over the dressing as soon as he walked back into the living room.  She and Gina had made themselves at home on the floor by the coffee table, already digging into dinner, so he took the other corner of the couch for himself and asked Miller to give him a slice.

"She's your type," Miller told him as he handed over two on one of the paper plates.

"Fallacy.  I'm pan; I literally don't have a type, not even a gender-based one," Bellamy replied with a snort.

Miller just gave him a long, flat look while Raven and Gina exchanged a knowing glance.

Bellamy grimaced.  "Yes, okay, I might have a little bit of a type.  But I guarantee you that the Princess is not my type."

Briefly, he explained his current neighborly drama to his group of friends, people in his circle that were actually his friends rather than those brought by his sister and her boyfriend.

He'd technically met the Princess when she moved into 3A, taking up the whole stairway with all of her stuff and nearly blocking him from his own apartment.  He'd glared at her but said nothing as she tried to direct the movers who were wrestling with her over-large couch.

The blonde with a mole above her lip had banged on his door in the middle of the night not two weeks later, demanding he keep down his "sexual escapades."  Their doors might have faced each other in the hallway but their bedrooms actually shared a wall, a fact she tartly informed him of at one in the morning.  Naturally, he'd refused, what with her stunningly polite request, and then, being himself, encouraged his partner to make as much damned noise as she wanted.  

The princess retaliated by blaring music at dawn, when she had to wake up for work and "accidentally" leaving it on all day.

This was his building.  He'd been living here in harmony with his neighbors for three years before she showed up, without a single complaint from the guy who lived there before her in all that time.  He was certain she was an overly sensitive, pampered princess who was so used to being immediately obeyed by whomever and he wasn't about to modify his behavior for someone like that.

"Now we're in a Cold War status, but if we can annoy each other, we do," Bellamy summed up his tale, to the unimpressed looks of his friends.

"Shouldn't you be making an example for your kids on how to make friends?" Gina suggested.  "You're a kindergarten teacher, for chrissakes."

"They're not here to learn from this example," he answered.  "Though, if they were, this would be how not to be a push-over."

Miller eyed him knowingly.  "Yeah, this girl sounds like your type.  Opinionated, not shy, attractive."  He smirked.  "It's the Bellamy Relationship Theory.  Attractive plus proximity plus you after a crisis equals you bone them and start a relationship."

Raven perked up at this potential use, or rather gross misuse, of the scientific method.  "Oooh, I like this hypothesis.  And this girl, she could be the experiment," she eagerly chimed in.  "To test the theory."

"Don't need her, really.  We have three subjects here.  He boned me after his epic break-up with Roma.  He boned you after his epic break-up with Echo.  He boned Gina after he and his sister had an epic blow-up over her dating a guy eight years older than her," Miller explained, motioning to each of them in turn.

"That just fits the facts, or rather, those were the observations that led you to the hypothesis," Raven returned, leaning towards him and smirking at Bellamy's glowering expression.  "This girl, she's a straight experiment."  She laughed.  "Well, assuming she's straight, because you are not, Bell."

"No kidding."  Bellamy picked up his beer and shook his head.  "You're missing a key fact here.   I liked all of you before I ended up sleeping with each of you.  That one-" He motioned vaguely in the direction of his door. "-I don't like."

"I think I'm right," Miller pronounced before taking a sip of his own beer.

"Do you ever think you're wrong?  Does anyone, really?" Gina wondered philosophically.

Miller lifted his bottle to her in acknowledgement and their conversation soon drifted to other subjects, to Bellamy's relief.  He hated when his friends talked about his sex life in general, and liked it even less when they would speculate about his future bedmates.  Especially ones as annoying as the woman next door.

 

* * *

 

Bellamy was already running late the following Monday by the time he pulled open his door to get to work.  He'd forgotten to plug in his phone and the battery had died before his alarm could wake him.  If it weren't for the sunlight streaming in from the window, he'd probably have slept right through the morning bell.

Unfortunately, at the very same moment, the door to 3A opened and his nemesis stepped out.  Her hair was tied up in a braid and she was wearing a paramedic's uniform, but she froze at the same time he did when they spotted each other.

Before either of them said a word, a orange and white blur darted out from her apartment, ran across the hall and into his.

"Shit!" she screeched, dropping her bag and trying unsuccessfully to grab at the creature.  "Toulouse!"

Bellamy thought for a moment about stopping her from running in after her cat, but then figured he'd rather she get it out of his apartment.  Quickly.  He hurriedly pulled to one side so she didn't tackle him on her way then followed her, frown firmly etched into his face.

Just in time to see the cat slither in the small crevice that existed in between two of his huge, overloaded bookshelves.

The blonde was on her knees in seconds, trying to coax the cat out or reach behind the bookcase to grab the cat.  He immediately noticed her rather nice ass before shaking his head to refocus on the task at hand.  

"Get your cat and get out, I've got to go to work," he commanded her brusquely, glancing at his phone as the minutes continued to tick by.

"I'm  _ trying _ , jerkoff, but he's just burrowing back further," she retorted sharply, not bothering to turn around.

He gave her all of another minute, tapping his foot and glancing at the clock at least three times before his impatience won out.

"Fuck, there's no time for this," Bellamy groused, then eyed the woman, taking in her uniform which declared her just as much a public employee as he was.  "Look, can you just pull your litter box over here and set out some water or something, and then we can deal with this after work?"

She turned to look over her shoulder at him, and the sight of a beautiful woman, on all fours, looking back at him with such heat in her eyes did not go unnoticed by his libido.

But she just blinked at him and her mouth opened slightly in surprise.  "Uh, yeah, sure," she managed.  "But I'm on shift for twelve hours so it'll be later."

"That's fine, as long as it's not now," he stressed.  He could deal with cat-sitting for an hour or two after work as long as it meant he wouldn't be late to work this morning.

She scrambled to her feet, hurried out of his apartment and within a minute, was back with a small litter box and bowl of water.  "Where should I put them?"

Bellamy pointed to a spot in the middle of the room.  "So he has no trouble finding them.  Let's go, Princess, I don't have all day."

"It's Clarke.  My name is Clarke," she told him, clearly wanting to tell him off but also mindful that her cat was going to be in his apartment all day.  "Look, if you need to reach me during the day, I'm at Firehouse 42.  You can Google the number."

"Got it," he told her, waiting for her to leave so he could close  the door and lock up.  "I'm Bellamy," he added after a moment, as she pulled her own door shut with a thud.

"Okay," she acknowledged, meeting his eyes briefly and giving him a nod.   

As they clattered down the stairs together, each rushing, she added, "Thanks for not being your usual asshole self about this."

" _ My _ usual asshole self?  You're the one with the issue," he retorted.

"Please, I'm trying not to-"  She cut herself off in aggravation.  "Look, sorry about my cat, I'll be back as soon as possible, I'll pay for any damage he causes, thank you, and let's call it that, okay?"

Bellamy only gave her a curt nod in reply, stunned into speechlessness.  They parted ways at the door to the building and he couldn't help giving her a glance over his shoulder as she hurried down the street.

When he got home hours later, he opened the door warily, mindful that he had a feline guest who might just want to make his day more hellish with another escape attempt.  But when he got inside, he found the orange and white tabby blinking at him owlishly from where he was curled up quite contently on his couch.

"Well, at least you came out from the hole," he told him, wrinkling his nose as he saw the cat had made use of the litter.  While he found a plastic bag to pluck the offending piece out and wrap up to throw in the garbage, his guest wandered over and began meowing piteously at him.

"What, I don't have food for you, okay?  You have to wait until your mommy gets home."  

Toulouse didn't seem to care about that information, nearly tripping Bellamy on his way to the kitchen.  It only took five minutes of yowling for the cat to convince him to search his fridge and cabinets for something likely to tempt him and he came up with a can of tuna.  He put some on a small plate for the cat and set it down near the stove, smiling some when his guest immediately began to eat.

"Now I can figure out what I'm having for dinner."

After an unsatisfying meal of cheese, crackers and the rest of the potato chips he had, Bellamy settled into the couch to check his email and watch some of the shows piling up on his DVR.  Within moments, Toulouse had joined him, walking over to him and kneading his thigh gently while purring loudly.  

"If that's a thank you, you're welcome," he informed the cat, smiling despite himself.

He was still absent-mindedly scratching the cat every once in awhile when a tentative knock sounded at his door a few hours later.  Assuming it was her - Clarke - he scooped up the cat under his arm and padded over to let her in.

"Hey, I just came to...oh!  You've got him!" Clarke began tiredly, more than a few hairs floating about her face after having escaped her braid, only to perk up right away when she spied the cat.  "I hope he wasn't much trouble, except for the whole invading your apartment thing."

"He's been fine.  Didn't even scratch anything, that I can see," Bellamy admitted, offering the tabby over.

He didn't expect to be given a shopping bag in return.  "What's this?"

Clarke was snuggling the cat into her chest, but managed a muffled reply.  "Beer and some take-out fettuccine alfredo from Romanos.  Call it both a thank you and a peace offering."  She shrugged a little and managed something of a smile.  "I figured everyone loves fettuccine alfredo."  Her eyes went wide as soon as she said it, as she hastily added, "Unless you're lactose intolerant, in which case, I'm sorry, I'll get you something else."

Bellamy just smiled.  "I was just wishing I had some real food.  Thank you."

She gave him a smile that unfortunately made her look way too pretty and he ducked his head quickly.  "Why don't you, uh, put him back in your apartment and grab his stuff?" he suggested as he turned away to put the food on the coffee table.

"Right," she agreed and not three minutes later, he was alone in his apartment again, one last thank you from the blonde across the hall ringing in his ears.  

This was not how he expected his day to go.

 

* * *

 

About a week after that, Bellamy was in the process of actually cooking a real meal, on a weeknight, like the goddamned adult that he was, when he sliced into his left hand while cutting up some eggplant.  He quickly put his hand under water, then bound it up, eyeing the wound critically.  With a wince, he tried to gauge if he would need to go to urgent care, already cursing about the time and the money it would take up when he recalled that his neighbor had medical training.

And, this was key, kind of owed him a favor.  

As he knocked on her door, he figured, at the very least, she could verify if he needed official medical attention or not.

Clarke answered the door wearing paint-spattered cut-offs and a old blood drive t-shirt, her hair up in a messy twist on her head.  She should not have looked as attractive as she did wearing grubby clothes with a streak of teal paint on her right hand.

"Um, sorry to bug you, but, well."  Bellamy just thrust his injured hand in her direction.  "I'm not sure if I need to go to urgent care or not."

Her brilliant blue eyes went wide and she ushered him inside her apartment, motioning him to a seat on the same beige couch that had once blocked his way to his home.

"Holy shit, this thing is comfortable," he blurted out as soon as he sat down.  

"Tell me about it.  I fall asleep on this thing all the time," Clarke agreed, perching next to him and carefully unwinding his loose bandage to look at the cut.  Her expression betrayed nothing about the severity of his injury during her examination and so his attention wandered, taking in the spill of art supplies over the table she'd pushed towards the front window, the easel next to it, and the stack of both used and empty canvases propped up against the wall.

"You're an artist, huh?  Like for fun or…"

Clarke glanced up at him through her eyelashes, then returned her attention to his hand.  "Yes and yes, for fun and profit.  Okay, so I think you got yourself bad enough that you need a couple of stitches."

"Aw, shit."  Bellamy sighed.  "There goes my whole night."

"Or you could let a trained paramedic who was premed once upon a time stitch it up for you," she informed him dryly.  "Wait here, I'll get my stuff."  She practically launched from the couch, hurrying into the bathroom.

"You get to take your med kit home with you?" he asked dubiously.

"No," she called.  "My mom's a surgeon at Union Health and I get some supplies from her once in awhile for my own personal use.  I've been known to get a wound or two myself while cutting canvases and like you, I don't like waiting forever to get seen and treated when I can do it myself."

Bellamy blinked.  "Uh, what about...does it hurt?"

"Have you never gotten stitches before?" she asked incredulously as she returned to the couch, setting out a small kit as well a fresh bandage and some saline solution in a small bottle.  

"I have, but always with painkillers," he defended himself.  "I'm assuming they didn't give them to me for shits and giggles."

Clarke rolled her eyes at him then batted away her cat when Toulouse jumped up next to her.   Bellamy held out his right hand to the cat and smiled when he imperiously walked away from his owner, tail straight up, to curl up on his lap.

"He's such a whore," she chuckled affectionately as she got the needle ready.

"Please.  He just knows good people when he sees them," Bellamy defended the poor animal, wincing once when Clarke pulled his hand closer so that she could begin to clean the area off.

He tried to keep his focus on the cat who'd begun purring his lap, his hand stroking Toulouse's back, instead of what Clarke was doing.  If she thought getting a couple of stitches was no big deal and could be done without painkillers, he wasn't going to whine like a baby about the pain.

"What do you do?" she asked suddenly.  "I mean, you know I'm a paramedic and an artist."

"I teach kindergarten," he admitted.  "And sometimes I pick up shifts as a bartender at The Works, this bar down-"

"Oh, I know it!" she replied with a grin.  "I've always wanted to step inside.  They have such a cool metalwork facade."

"My friend actually co-owns the bar," he admitted.  "I do fill-in shifts on the weekends for her for some extra cash.  I bar tended through college and it helps supplement my not great salary as a teacher."

"I'll admit, I have a hard time seeing you as a kindergarten teacher.  I mean, given how we've been non-combatants for all of a week," she teased him lightly, making his mouth twitch in amusement.

"I am great with kids, I'll have you know.  And kids this age are the best, still curious and willing to listen." He was used to getting flak for being in charge of a bunch of five year-olds, but he wanted to make sure she understood that he was proud of his job.

Clarke smiled.  "Okay, you sound like you're really into it.  What are you doing in your class right now?"

Bellamy figured she was trying to distract him, even though all she was doing at the moment was cleaning the wound and disinfecting the area around it.  So he launched into an explanation of all the class's current projects, including learning the planets of the solar system and designing their own candy creations (in art form only) after he'd read them  _ Charlie and the Chocolate Factory _ over the past few weeks.

"When we're done with planets, I'm going to segue into mythology for a bit, and then come back to plants.  I think we're going to plant something in a couple of pots and monitor their progress this year.  I didn't get approval to buy the materials, but fuck it, I'll just buy it on my own.  Can't be that bad, less than a hundred bucks, I figure."

He turned his head as he finished his explanation, only to see that there were two neat stitches in his hand and Clarke reaching for the bandage to put over them.

"Almost done," she announced, sounding chipper.  

"Hey, I hardly felt that," Bellamy admitted, then carefully flexed his left hand to test his range of motion.  "Not too bad."

To his delight, Clarke gave him a wink and a grin.  "I know what I'm about, son."

He grinned in return.  "A  _ Parks and Rec _ fan, huh?"

"Completely.  I was just going to fire up a couple of episodes and put a frozen pizza in the oven."

"You weren't painting?"  He nodded at her clothes.

"I was just finishing up when you knocked.  You picked a good time to need medical attention, otherwise I might have just let you bleed," she teased.  "Okay, so.  Keep it dry and let me take it a look at it in a few days.  Ibuprofen if it starts to hurt," she prescribed, beginning to clean up her tools.

"Thanks, Clarke," he remembered to say, standing as she did.  He gave her a sheepish smile, adding, "I guess I should go back to making my own dinner."

She just chuckled at him.  "Unless you want to join me," she offered.  "I'll admit, I'm not seeing you as a guy I want in the kitchen around knives right now."

"I'm an excellent cook," Bellamy protested.   "But I won't turn down food I don't have to prepare."

Privately, he admitted to himself that he wasn't really in the mood to go back to his empty apartment anyway.  Talking with her had gotten him in the mood for conversation, so he eagerly accepted her invitation.

And she saw through him a bit too, given the smirk she laid on him.  "Right.  It's okay if you don't want to acknowledge you just wanna stay because I'm awesome company."

"Not you.  Toulouse is awesome company."  He motioned to the cat who was still half on his lap.

"He's great, isn't he?  Escape attempts notwithstanding."

Bellamy ended up hanging out in her apartment until nearly eleven, first to eat pizza, then to watch some  _ Parks and Rec _ , then to help her finish off the last of the ice cream in her freezer.   

Gradually, it came out that Clarke was from the Alpha Station part of town, that she was trying to be on her own and yes, she did grow up fairly privileged.  But she learned about public service from her parents and moved to a place closer to her work, especially since most of her friends had scattered for college and then built lives in new towns.

"My friend Miller is from Alpha Station, so don't worry, I don't hate all of you guys," he quipped as he put his used bowl into the sink, then turned around to lean against it.  "I'm surprised you didn't recognize each other then, actually.  He passed you on the stairs a few weeks ago."

Clarke was still sitting on her counter and she hung her head in embarrassment.  "I was home-schooled, so not surprising."

"What?"  Nothing about her or her background screamed home-schooled.

"I know, it's like."  She sighed.  "My parents believe in civil duty, right?  But they had real issues about how certain things were taught, especially about science and how girls get treated in school and long story short, they thought I wouldn't get the attention they wanted me to get, so home-schooling.  I had tutors, and attended some online class stuff when I got older, but otherwise."  She shrugged.  "But it also meant I could volunteer for all sorts of things, or go camping with Dad whenever he found the time and do like, science experiments out there or read history there.  And my Dad, he was a wiz with math, so…"  She trailed off, smiling fondly.

Bellamy cleared his throat.  "Uh, was?"

"Yeah, he passed, seven years ago."  She blinked and he could tell from the way her breathing hitched, she was trying to control some tears, even after all this time.

The bitter, empty sting of a lost parent was an ache he was more than familiar with.  "Nine years ago, my mom.  No father in the picture, he died when I was very young.  So, I feel you.  Ended up taking custody of my younger sister afterwards, but my mom was so sick for so long, I really did most of the raising of O since she was a little kid."

"Oh, I'm so sorry.  That is such a raw deal," she immediately sympathized.

He waved it away, admitting, "I'm not really in the mood to talk about it, but I understand.  Anyway, if you'd like to meet Miller sometime, another Alpha refugee like yourself, you can come by the next time we hang out at my place.  I'm sure he'd love to meet you."

Clarke hopped down off to the floor, asking wryly, "Is this a setup?"

"Miller?  No, he's gay," he quickly denied.

"Oh, good.  I got out of a going-nowhere relationship with my ex-girlfriend not too terribly long ago and just not ready to deal with all that," she confessed, then clearly watched him for his reaction.  

"Bi?" he inquired.

At her confirming nod, he grinned.  "I'm pan."

"Nice," she grinned back at him.   "And sure, yeah, I'll come by the next time you hang out with him as long as I'm not on shift.  Just tell me when and what I can bring."

"Alcohol, if nothing else.  Anyway, it would Miller, Raven and Gina, actually.  We usually hang out in a group."

"Sounds awesome," she enthused.

He returned her smile, agreeing with a nod.  It did sound awesome.

 

* * *

 

Clarke met his trio of friends the following weekend, bringing along two six packs and endearing herself to the group immediately with her excellence at Cards Against Humanity.  He ignored Miller's pointed looks all night.  

When Clarke ran across the hall to grab her forgotten phone, Raven took the opportunity to declare, "Oh, I see it.  The Theory is going to completely pan out."   She then raised eyebrows and nodded, trying to make everyone acknowledge her pun to everyone's collective groan.

Gina hopped aboard the Theory too within a couple of months.  Bellamy had gotten into the habit of sending Clarke memes and funny gifs, every time she texted him that she was bored, a habit he extended by eventually grumping to her about his co-workers or his job when he was stuck in a meeting or a continuing education session.

Or when he got stiffed by stupid customers at the bar.  He'd picked up a Saturday night shift when Max called out sick and Gina was expecting to be slammed because they were the second stop on a pub crawl.   And while they were incredibly busy for one hour, the tips had been awful and the crowd had chased away their usual Saturday night folks.  

Bellamy did not expect Clarke to then show up with half of her firehouse as soon as they got off-shift.  "Figured you could use the business and we'd get a lot of attention since you're otherwise quiet," she'd explained smugly as she plopped a twenty on the bar.  "So, what's your girliest drink?"

Later, when he and Gina were closing up, his friend had grinned at him while she wiped down the bar.  "Mark me down as being in support of the Bellamy Relationship Theory," Gina announced.

He glared at her from where he was collecting the used glasses scattered around various tables.  "Come on."

"No, I mean, I kind of agreed with you, that you had to like them, that it was part of the attraction part.  But you do like this girl, since you give her more than the time of day, anyone can see that.  So, you've got attraction and you've got proximity.  Just need the crisis."

She spelled this all out for Raven and Miller too on Sunday afternoon, when they were enjoying Chinese takeout and old monster movies at Raven's place.  

"True, there does need to be a crisis," Miller agreed, narrowing his eyes at Bellamy as he thought it over. "What do you guys think?  Maybe he needs a date to the school's faculty Christmas party so one of his co-workers doesn't hit on him?"

"Or Octavia hassles him over never meeting his girl or boyfriends again?" Gina jumped in.  "That caused a fight last time."

"Invitation to an ex's wedding!" Raven suggested.  

"Ha ha, guys.  Knock it off.  I'm not...that predictable, come on."  Bellamy pointedly ignored all further jokes about it and about Clarke, for the rest of the evening.

Even if he had noticed that he was starting to get bummed out when she didn't talk to him during the day via text, or if they went a couple of days without seeing each other.  And that she teased him less than his actual friends did, the fucking traitors, when they hung out so he didn't always have to be ready for a retort at someone's joke at his expense.  

But he could like someone without needing a crisis to be with them.  Not that he could be with Clarke, he reminded himself.  She was taking a break from relationships.  Even if she was available, well, there was no rush.  He was enjoying their friendship too much to unnecessarily risk it with a pass that would spoil their easy camaraderie.  And it was cool to have a real friend living next door, someone he could mooch food off of, or go bug when he was feeling social and bored.

Bellamy enjoyed the status quo for the next three months, if not the teasing that he got from his friends whenever Clarke didn't joined them. 

Until the day Clarke mentioned to him casually as they were binge-watching  _ The Americans _ one Saturday afternoon in his apartment, "I have a date tonight.  If I model a couple of outfits for you, could you help me pick out the best one?"

He nearly choked on his sip of beer, coughing once before he sputtered an answer.  "What?"

"I mean, I know you're not like a fashion guru or anything, but it's been a long time since I had a first date and I want to look nice but not too forward, not too conservative.  I want to strike the right balance.  We're going to Omegas, so you know, it's a little bit fancier than our usual Saturday night fare," she explained, her eyes never leaving the screen.  While he'd relaxed in his usual corner of the couch, she'd hooked both her legs over the other arm and lay so that her head was just a few inches from his leg.

Instantly, he felt sick with jealousy and his leg started to bounce with the wave of unease that washed over him.  "Yeah, uh, when are you going out?"

"We're supposed to meet at eight there, so I should get going soon.  Shower, all that, not be a total slob around him," she quipped, gaze sliding to him as she grinned.

"Might as well see the real you right away, right?" Bellamy asked, wincing when he heard how mean that sounded.  "Uh, no offense."

Clarke just laughed at him though, seemingly oblivious to his change in mood..  "Oh, no, that was a good burn.  I'll give you props for that."

"Great, thank you."  His response sounded off to his own ear, so he quickly got up, as if putting distance between them would calm down his racing heart.  "No time like the present though, huh?" he asked, motioning to the screen as the latest episode was about to end.

"You know, I'm not some girl who takes seventeen years to get ready for a date," Clarke told him haughtily, though she did swing her legs to the floor and push to her feet.  "But I suppose I could take a good long shower, try to relax a bit."  She pulled a face.  "I hate first dates.  It's so awkward, you know?"

He nodded sagely, all but ushering her out the door.  "Just, uh, let me know when you're going to start modeling outfits."

"Yeah, I'll text you."  Clarke breezed out of his apartment, leaving him alone to stew.

She had a date.

Clarke was back to dating.

He was going to have sit here and wait while she went out on a date.  Wait to see if she came back with someone from her date.  Or worse, went to his or her place and then he'd be up all night.

Bellamy started pacing as the thoughts raced through his head.  Of course, she wouldn't run right over here regardless to tell him about her date.  He'd be lucky if he got a text tomorrow about it, unless it was horrible and then, maybe, she might text him from the restaurant to save her.

Which he would do.  He never wanted her to suffer.

But he was going to suffer.  Suffer horribly, waiting and waiting to see if Clarke had a good time on her date.   Feeling like an asshole for wanting the date to be horrible enough so she wouldn't want to date this person again, but not so horrible she swore off dating again.

It hit him like the proverbial ton of bricks.   

This was the crisis.  This was the circumstance that was driving him to want to be with Clarke.

Immediately.

Yesterday.

He lurched for the door, ready to yank it open and stride across the hall and blurt out all his feelings and demand that Clarke call off her date when he realized that doing so would make him a narcissistic asshole.  She was about to go out for the first time in nearly a year and he knew her well enough to know she probably hadn't made the decision lightly.  Her heart had been so battered before, she wouldn't just decide to date someone because she had nothing else to do on a Saturday night.

Bellamy's hand gripped and flexed around the doorknob several times as he vacillated, until finally, he turned away from the door with a groan.

Despite his outward appearance, and his behavior the first month or so Clarke was in the building, he just wasn't that much of an asshole.

But it didn't stop him from changing his mind at least four more times, though he'd always stop at his own door.  The last time, he'd just let his head thump against the wood repeatedly, as if his thinking needed percussive readjustment.

Which maybe it did, if he was seriously considering just standing by idly while Clarke, his neighbor, his ally, his confidante, his friend, just go out, willy-nilly with someone whom she hadn't even liked enough to mention more than a few hours before her date.

Because Bellamy absolutely would have noticed if she talked about anyone as if she liked them enough to date.

Seizing upon that thought, and before he could talking himself out of it again, he shot across the hall and knocked on Clarke's door rather harder than was polite.

Within seconds, the door opened.  Clarke looked surprised to see him, telling him, "Oh, I was just about to text you.  What do you think?"  She stepped back just enough so he could get a good look at her.

When he rushed across the door, Bellamy had been prepared to tell Clarke everything, about the way he felt, how he understood her, how she didn't need to waste her time dating when she could have him.  The guy she spent most of her time with outside of work, the guy who had a key to her apartment so he could feed the cat if she had a long shift, the guy who made sure she had enough soup, tea and tissues to get her through her nasty cold two months ago.

The guy who hadn't gone out with anyone, casually or not, since they'd declared their truce.

But he was just unprepared for the sight of Clarke in a cute little blue dress, with a criss-cross pattern on the top that hugged her curves just right before flaring out just so at her waist.  Combined with her hair half-pulled back in what he thought of as her princess hair-do, and she looked like she'd stepped out of one of his fantasies.

Because, in a rare moment of honesty with himself, he'd been fantasizing about her for months and months.

"You look…," he began, sucking in a deep breath.  "Perfect.  But you looked perfect before too."

Clarke had smiled at his compliment, but her look was bemused.  "What?"

"I'm an asshole," he continued, which made her huff a laugh.  "I've been crazy about you for months and you know, trying to be respectful, since you weren't dating, but you know, hopeful that maybe I'd have the balls to ask you out and that our friendship wouldn't be destroyed if you said no, because of course you could say no, but I don't know if I could forgive myself if I didn't say something before you went out on this date with whoever, who didn't even rate a mention before this afternoon, because I'd like to be the one taking you out to dinner, and waking up with you, and pointing out when you've got paint on the back of your neck, and commiserating with you when your mother calls with a lecture you just don't want to hear.

"And I'm an asshole for doing this right before your date, but I didn't know, Clarke, I didn't know!  I mean, the Theory says it takes a crisis to make me make a move, but I swear, I didn't know that just the thought of you on a date with someone else would be a crisis to me.  Which is also just such an asshole, presumptuous thing, and god, I'm going to shut up now, and I'm sorry."

The entire time he'd been talking, Clarke's eyes had slowly grown wider and the little 'o' shape of her mouth had gotten bigger, until a smile had bloomed on her face the likes of which he'd never seen before.

"One," she began, because she was the type of person who like to enumerate her points.  "Yes, it's totally presumptuous to lay all your verbal diarrhea on me about your feelings before my date with someone else."

He closed his eyes, as if that could stifle the pain in his heart.  She didn't feel the same about him. 

"Two, I'm really impressed with your level of self-awareness of all this, though, so that's good."

And it was so like Clarke for her to compliment him during his fuck-up, because she was kind like that to her friends.

"Three, you never heard about this guy before because this is a blind date my friend Wells set up for me because I thought I might be ready to date again."

Bellamy opened his eyes, staring at her, as much for what she just said as the completely amused way she said it.

"Four, I thought I might ready to date again because I've become incredibly interested in not so much dating you formally as continuing exactly how we've been going, because I love what we do and I don't need formal, official dates, but I would like to add hugging and kissing and sexing to our relationship."

He knew he must look like an absolute idiot, but he couldn't help the triumphant grin that spread across his face or the way his heart beat somehow seemed to speed up even more.

"Fine, I would be happy to call off my date with Jimmy and instead get take-out with you and hear all about this Theory, whatever it is, that you're talking about.  As long as there's hugging and kissing and sexing, of some kind, afterwards."  Her nose wrinkled and she gave him a sly smile.  "I have all sorts of ideas about that, if you're curious."

"I am the most curious man you have ever met," Bellamy promised her, following her into her apartment and slipping his arms around her.  "Let's start with this kissing you've been talking about."

"Thought you'd never ask," she replied, pushing herself up on her toes so she could capture his lips with her own.

 

* * *

 

"I think I might be a scientific genius," Miller toasted himself with his own beer when their group of friends descended on Bellamy's apartment the next day for dinner and game night.  

"I think Bellamy was just helpless against my magnetic pull," Clarke replied happily, glancing up at her boyfriend from where she was nestled against his side.

"I think both theories have merit," Bellamy answered, smiling down at Clarke.  "Might have to do more research on the second though."

"Anytime," Clarke welcomed and stole a kiss from him he was happy to give.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was written in two days so I apologize for the rush job.


End file.
